In the Dream of a Night I Stood
by shwatsonlock94
Summary: AU. Sherlock & John don't meet in the morgue. They're six, and dreaming when they first discover each other. Mycroft is there. They grow up believing the other s  are a figment of their subconcious. Until, one day, they meet. In real life.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: We're Going to be Friends

**Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, but the plot is!**

_Once in the dream of a night I stood__  
><em>_Lone in the light of a magical wood,__  
><em>_Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang;__  
><em>_And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang,__  
><em>_And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,__  
><em>_And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed__  
><em>_In that magical wood in the land of sleep._

_-Sarojini Naidu_

John opens his eyes with a shudder, desperately hoping he wasn't awake just yet. He wasn't. Surrounding him were magnificent hedges, and in one corner was a large willow tree with a swing attached. It reminds him of the movie his mum loves. A young boy was crouched by the pond in the center of the garden.

"Please don't stare. It's….dis-disteracting," the boy says suddenly, stumbling a little over the last word. John looks away, huddling into himself. Why was he dreaming about him? The boy glances up. He has wild curls of dark chestnut and mercurial grey eyes.

"Oh. You're scared. Why?" he muses, rising slowly. The whip-thin boy creeps forward. John lifts his chin, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

"Not scared," he returns mulishly. The boy cocks his head, and then gives a sharp nod.

"Your dad, then. He….hurts you." John lets out a little snarl, lashing out like a corned wild animal. Suddenly, there's a much older boy there. He has neatly trimmed auburn hair and cool grey eyes.

"Leggo of me," John flinches as the boy's grip is in his collar. The impish boy, the much younger one, glowers at the older boy.

"Let go of him Mycroft!" he snaps. Mycroft studies them, then releases John, who scuttles backwards.

"Have it your way, little brother." Then, "Please refrain from attacking him. I am Mycroft Holmes. This is Sherlock," Mycroft announces tonelessly, with just a hint of something…dangerous. It makes John nervous, and he tenses his muscles.

"I'm not little!" Sherlock protests petulantly. John stifles a laugh because of course Sherlock's little! They both are, especially compared to Mycroft. John decides that he thinks he likes the boys his brain's dreamed up.

"You're five, Sherlock. I'm twelve. At the least, you're little to me," Mycroft drawls dryly. John frowns. He doesn't want them fighting. So he pipes up,

"John Watson. I'm six." Sherlock beams, making John giggle. He tells them what he was thinking earlier about liking the dream. They both frown.

"This isn't a dream," Mycroft says, brow furrowed. John purses his lips.

"I'm sleeping," he tells them sternly, with no room for disagreement. Mycroft and Sherlock exchange glances. They all finally mutually agree that this entire encounter is a dream, though who's dreaming it isn't certain.

"You can help me with my 'peerments," Sherlock finally announces. Mycroft sighs, rolling his eyes.

"Experiments, little brother. Ex-peer-ih-ments," he pronounces slowly. Sherlock pouts, but John repeats the word, curious. Mycroft's lips twitch at him, eyes amused.

"Wonderful, John," he praises. Sherlock rolls his eyes and grabs John's arm.

"Come, John. No need for Mycroft to corrupt you," he huffs before dragging John off to do who knows what until John wakes up once more to his father crashing around the kitchen and Harry creeping into his room, sniffling.

_ Tonight I'll dream while I'm in bed, when silly thoughts go through my head, about the bugs and the alphabet, and when I wake tomorrow I'll bet that you and I will walk together again, 'cause I can tell that we're going to be friends._

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><p><strong>AN: I know it's short, and a lot of dialogue, but this is mostly just a prologue of sorts. Kinda getting used to the idea. **

**I welcome constructive criticisms, but no flames, please. Thanks, and hope you like it so far! **


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Chasing Cars

**Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, but the plot is!**

**Note: A kind reviewer pointed out my mistake with the math. Changed eight years to seven years-John is 13 in this, and Sherlock is 12. Mycroft is 19. Thanks! **

"SHERLOCK!" John plunges through the tall fields of flowers and barrels into his friend's usual spot. It is the garden behind an old Victorian manor Sherlock and Mycroft say is their home. That is about the only thing they can agree on, John's found.

"No need to bellow, John. It's not as if I wouldn't be able to hear you," Sherlock draws out lazily. John has dreamt about Sherlock, and sometimes his older brother, Mycroft, since he was six. It's been nearly seven years now. Usually the dream is set in the Holmes' garden. Sometimes, though, it'll be in John's bedroom, or, rarer, wherever Mycroft stays now that he doesn't live at home.

"Happy birthday!" John says warmly, tackling the gangly pre-teen. Sherlock lets out a surprised grunt which quickly slips into reluctant giggles when John starts tickling him mercilessly. They wrestle for a while before sprawling half on top of each other, panting.

"I never should have told you when my birthday was. You're too sentimental," Sherlock mutters, though John knows he's pleased. So John scowls, snapping,

"Shut it, Holmes." Sometimes, Sherlock will be…weird. He'll be obnoxious, cruel and careless-a sociopath, Sherlock tells him with bite. But John looked up the word, and disagrees vehemently. His friend may pretend to be sociopathic with others or even _want_ to be at times, but he cares. He has feelings. John knows this, because he loves Sherlock and knows that Sherlock loves him, too. They're brothers-twins, almost, because he and Sherlock are closer than Sherlock and Mycroft or John and Harry.

"Mummy gave me new sheet music-some Beethoven and Vivaldi-and rosin for my violin. Father, as per usual, ignored my existence." John grits his teeth, careful to look away from Sherlock. He hates John's pity, but John can't help it. They both have bastard fathers. After a pause, John pokes his best friend in the side.

"And Mycroft?" Mycroft has become like an older brother to John. A very intimidating, usually condescending, scarily overprotective, sometimes annoying and sometimes comforting, older brother. Sherlock just barely tolerates him without John, and always acts as if he detests Mycroft. But sometimes, after a bad day, they'll hide from the world by just curling into Mycroft, and Mycroft will soothe them with stories of when _he_ was a child, or when Sherlock was too young to remember anything.

"Mycroft gave me a chemistry set and some of his old textbooks," Sherlock admits grudgingly. John grins wryly. Did he mention that the Holmes brothers are brilliant? Because they are. Sherlock's only just turned twelve, yet he thinks at the same capability as a middle-aged man. Probably even better.

"That's awesome," he comments. Sherlock just grumbles incoherently. After a moment of companionable silence, he nudges John in the shoulder.

"I…despise emotions, you know that. They make it all too messy. And they're illogical, and-"

"Sherlock."

"Right. Sorry. Just you know…What you do…is Good-You are…Even if this is a dream…" That was a sore subject. John was real, but Sherlock thought _he _was real, just as Mycroft thought _he_ was real. They didn't know who was actually dreaming this. Shaking his head quickly, John cuts in.

"It's all fine, Sherlock. Always. You're fun to be with, too."

And that is that.

"_Forget what we're told, before we get too old; show me a garden that's bursting into life. Let's waste time, chasing cars around our heads." _

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><p><strong>AN: I know it's short-It's supposed to be like that. These are just little snapshots, leading up to the end. It's probably going to be a short story. I'm kind of just testing the waters with BBC Sherlock right now. Feeling my way through it. *grins* Okay. I hope you like it and PLEASE tell me if you think someone's acting out of character. That's ultimately what I'm striving for. All righty then-Hope you like it! **

**No flames please, but constructive criticism is welcome. **


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Funny the Way It Is

**DISCLAIMER: These characters are not mine, despite all the wishes! ^_^**

Sherlock appears in John's room at the same time as Mycroft. They both freeze momentarily at the sight of him, bruised, bloodied and exhausted.

"_John!" _Mycroft goes into the bathroom connected to John's room as Sherlock drops to his knees beside his friend. John lifts his head, smiles a little dizzily at Sherlock.

"'Lo, Sherlock," he mumbles, dropping his head back between his knees. Sherlock runs a hand over John's long-ish ash blonde hair, eyes almost frantic with worry and protectiveness.

"Your father should be put down," Mycroft mutters, returning with a warm, wet washcloth and a bowl filled with soapy water. Gently, he dabs at his little brother. John lets out a dark laugh that makes Sherlock and Mycroft exchange looks. John is the sociable, pleasant one. Sherlock and Mycroft are the ones awkward in caring and cynical. Sherlock helps John out of bloodied clothes, before glancing up with a frown.

"Your sister's gay?" John splutters once, before sighing. He should be used to Sherlock and Mycroft doing that by now, really, he should, but it takes him by surprise and fills him with admiration every time. Rolling his shoulders back with a wince, he sinks back. Sherlock is already behind him, supporting him as they always do for each other-physical or otherwise.

"I've known for a while now. She told me this morning that she was going to tell Mum and Dad, so I made sure to be there. Mum was upset at first-really upset. She wasn't talking, at all. Dad. Well, Dad was Dad," John says bitterly. Mycroft's eyes are dark with frustration and Sherlock is coiled tighter than a spring behind him. John knows they're aggravated because they can't help John beyond what they're doing now. Because they are _real._ As real as John, in fact. For some odd reason, they are all connected at the mind when they sleep. John is Sherlock and Mycroft's….conduit? He can't remember the term. He is the point at which the two brothers manage to connect.

"He left. To the pub. After a while, Mum began to talk to Harry. She started off in denial, then eventually accepted it. I was in my room studying when he got home. Slapped Mum for trying to 'talk back' to him before I got down." Rage trembles just under the calm in John's voice.

"He started screaming abuse at Harry. Called her all sorts of names. He went to hit Harry and I snapped. Shoved him into the back door. It broke, which means I'll have to fix it as soon as I wake up. Dad wasn't…happy." John inhaled slowly. He hated talking about his dad. Actually, he hated his dad in general. Sherlock ran his fingers through John's hair and Mycroft passed a hand down his arm. John knew they generally weren't very tactile people. Hell, their personalities probably weren't very "tactile". But they always _tried_ with John. Sometimes they succeeded, and sometimes it was quite weird, but John always accepted the touches. Sherlock and Mycroft were his brothers in bond, not blood.

"We got into a bit of a brawl, as you can tell. I managed to knock Dad unconscious-he's in the basement, now. Mum and Harry are spending the night at a family member's. I told them I'd be fine here-we don't want the family to worry. Or call social services, or some rot. 'Sides, it was this, or tell them how much everything _aches_ and then they'd send me to the A&E." Sherlock is making faces into the back of John's head.

"Shut up, Sherlock," John says, snuggling back. Sherlock startles.

"I didn't say anything!" he protests, shifting around so Mycroft can lean against both of them. He is now 22 years old. Sherlock is 15, and John is 16. He's driving now. It's odd to think how much they've grown up from that first dream.

"No, but you were thinking about how much of an idiot I am," John chuckles. Mycroft lets out a hum of amusement, running his fingers through both their hair. Sherlock huffs indignantly.

"First of all, you can't be offended-practically everyone is! You usually aren't as dense as the rest of the population, but tonight I think you got knocked about the head too much. Second of all-Mycroft, I am no longer a child. You needn't treat me as such." Mycroft withdraws, voice all amusement and patronization.

"Do you want me to stop?" Sherlock pauses. John has to stifle a laugh. He and Mycroft both know that the easiest way to calm Sherlock and help him silence his thoughts is stroke his hair. That, and when Mycroft tells stories of their childhood.

"Maybe not," Sherlock admits grudgingly. John nudges him.

"Just let go. For tonight," he pleads softly. Sherlock concedes reluctantly, and they curl into Mycroft as he begins a story from his childhood.

It is just like they are little again, and Mycroft is their shield from the world.

"_And evening comes, and we're hanging out on the front step, and a car goes by with the windows rolled down. And that war song is playing, 'Why can't we be friends'. Someone is screaming, crying in the apartment upstairs."_

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><p>AN: God. I am so, so very sorry this was so delayed! I have a chronic illness that prevented me from reaching my creative juices and the computer. (I don't have a laptop) I will see if I can update another chapter tomorrow. Also, possible House MD one-shot. It all depends. *Shrugs* Sorry again, dear readers!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Big Night

DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me.

"Boo!" John jumps nearly a foot before realizing that it is Sherlock towering behind him. His hair sticks out as if gravity has personally insulted it and his eyes are flickering with mischief. With no little trepidation, John recognizes this mood. Sherlock has been given caffeine in copious amounts. He leads Sherlock to a chair in the corner of Mycroft's flat.

"Sit, Sherlock. Stay," John orders sternly. Sherlock huffs, but concedes. Before John loses his patience and tells his closest friend to _, _Mycroft appears.

"Oh, thank God," John mutters as the elder Holmes takes in his sibling's bouncing leg.

"Sherlock, who on earth would be moronic enough to give _you _coffee?" Mycroft drawls eventually. Caffeine _always_ makes Sherlock hyper. It is not a pretty sight. Hyper-Sherlock is like….like a little kid who's had three helpings of cake and set loose in a shop full of shiny toys. On crack. Very frightening. 'And,' John thinks, 'it's probably worse because Sherlock likes to experiment. On very dangerous chemicals. And sometimes people.'

"Not coffee. The new kid in school gave me this new energy drink, Monster. It's quite good-mostly tastes like sugar and chemicals, but the _color-_" Mycroft and John exchange looks of exasperation. Briskly, Mycroft reaches for two water bottles and tosses them to Sherlock.

"Drink, little brother," he sighs. Sherlock gulps one down before suddenly jumping up.

"FLIES! I NEED FLIES!" he exclaims before making a frenzied movement for the door. John blinks twice, staring. Christ, he feels like he's in some slap-stick comedy or something. It's ridiculous how strange the guy gets. John turns to Mycroft, but for once he, too, is nonplussed.

"_Flies_," Sherlock begins in a long-suffering way, "can be used to decide if music can control chaos." John can't help it. He lets out a peal of giggles. Mycroft, too, dissolves into deep chuckles. Sherlock glares at them, and that only sets them off again.

"Sorry, mate, but really-"John snorts, giggling again. Sherlock drops to Mycroft's bed, landing in a sprawl.

"I'm glad to provide you with amusement," he sniffs. John and Mycroft collapse next to him.

"Good. Perhaps you could do so more often," Mycroft teases dryly. At Sherlock's glare, Mycroft only smiles and tugs on the chestnut curls.

"Stop!" Sherlock moans, wriggling away. John grins suddenly, but it's more a baring of teeth. Mycroft and Sherlock freeze, staring at him. It's been a while since John has felt like pranking someone, and Mycroft has never been the reciprocator to this.

"I've never seen him look like that before," Mycroft muses aloud. Sherlock is slowly edging away.

"I have," he mutters. "The results aren't pretty." Mycroft stares at John, bemused.

"But you seem so..."

"Dull?" John grins. Again, more the movement a wolf makes when threatened or about to pounce. It is alarming, in a way. That this young man, with the ash blonde hair and warm blue eyes, could have a total other side to him.

"Watch out for the quiet ones," Sherlock murmurs, with a wry twist of his lips. Mycroft leans in, looking interested.

"What did you do to Sherlock?" he queries. Sherlock shoots him a look, crossing his arms. John smirks.

"Well...It all started when Sherlock was in one of his _moods." _Here, Mycroft and John exchange significant looks. Sherlock, in one of his moods, was nigh unbearable.

"Well. I'm starting to understand this," Mycroft says dryly. John snorts, then continues his story.

"Right, well. He wasn't cooperating, and was sulking up a storm. So, to try and get him out of it, I pushed him in the pond. And that wouldn't have been so bad, but when he emerged, I managed to spray him with whipped cream, then grab a picture of him. He looked like a cross between a wet cat and Santa Claus." Mycroft blinked.

"Where on earth did you get whipped cream?" he asked. John shrugged.

"I thought it." Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged glances, then looked at John again. Sherlock pouted.

"It wasn't nice," he sulked. Mycroft and John burst into laughter.

"Since when have you cared about niceties, little brother?" Mycroft crowed. Sherlock slammed a pillow into Mycroft, pushing him off the bed. John howled, letting out another one of his odd giggles.

"Stop it, stop it, girls. No fighting," he gasped. Then he grunted, feathers exploding into the air as both Holmes boys smacked him with other pillows.

"_Got my dreams, got my life, got my love. Got my friends, got the sunshine above. Why am I making this hard on myself when there's so many beautiful reasons I have to be happy._

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><p>I'm sorry. There's been a lot going on. It should be updated a lot faster now, if that helps. I'll do my best, I know firsthand how annoyingdisappointing it is when the author doesn't update swiftly. Cheers, all.

Constructive criticism is welcome, but no flames, please.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Exit Wounds

DISCLAIMER: These people are not mine. Just ask the readers. =D

It is two years later when John becomes privy to the first _serious _argument between Sherlock and Mycroft. To be fair, John rather thinks that Mycroft's being a prick.

But it is slightly chilling that John can easily picture the world burning up in flames because of an estrangement between the two Holmes.

Sherlock lunges for Mycroft, eyes flaring with rage. Mycroft stands down, pushing his baby brother away. He already has a black eye from outside this supernatural connection.

"Oi! _Oi!_ HEY! Jesus, Sherlock! Mycroft, you moron, don't antagonize him!" John cries out, grabbing Sherlock.

"Heartless son of a bitch! Leaving her like that to-to-" Sherlock is spitting mad, struggling to fight. John feels cold. He knows, that no matter what, John will choose Sherlock if it comes down to that. And that _physically hurts_ John, because he knows that the two brothers are alike in their loneliness, if nothing else.

"It's necessary, Sherlock. For my role in the government. I cannot have _any _weaknesses," Mycroft insists tonelessly. John almost lets go of Sherlock in his shock. 'The hell is his older brother talking about?' he thinks. Sherlock rips free and suddenly the two Holmes are grappling on the grass. _Fuck._ Without thinking, John tackles Sherlock.

"Mycroft-" he grunts, "-get the hell outta here." Mycroft stares at him, something like shock and grief and maybe even betrayal in his eyes.

"John," he begins slowly. John snarls as Sherlock elbows him. He is shaking. John bows his head towards Sherlock's, lips brushing against his forehead.

"I'll be back. Always, Sherlock." Then he lets go and gestures for Mycroft to follow him. They are in the Holmes' garden, but John knows the winding paths by heart now.

John remembers when he was younger, and got into a fight with Harry. He was ten, she was twelve. God, that was years ago. They had been arguing about something stupid. A toy. And then, Mum had come in, crying a little. Dad had been in the wine again. Just like that, they stopped arguing. One common enemy, and all that. Both working together to protect Mum. 

John thinks, though, that it might just break them all a little more if he tried to be their common enemy.

"I don't know what's going on, Mycroft, but it sounds like you're rejecting your own blood. And you know how much I value family and Sherlock. Last chance, brother," John says icily. Mycroft cringes, before smoothing his face over once more.

"Tell him I love him. I don't think I'll ever get as close to him again. He won't let me," Mycroft sighs, sounding regretful. John bristles, lip curling.

"The same goes for me, Mycroft. So just get the _hell _out of my dream before Sherlock _snaps!_ GO!" he roars. With no noise, Myroft vanishes.

"I hate him," Sherlock says, fury evident in his voice. John whirls around, pulling Sherlock into a tight hug. They drop to their knees, trembling. Heavy-hearted, John heaves in a shuddering breath.

"Why, John?" Sherlock asks in a small voice. John shakes his head. They are lost. Their brother has turned his back on them, betrayed his own mother.

"I don't know. I don't know."

"_My hands are cold, my body's numb. I'm still in shock-what have you done? My head is poundin', my vision's blurred; your mouth is moving-I don't hear a word. And it hurts so bad, that I search my skin for the entry point, where love went in and ricocheted and bounced around, and left a hole when you walked out."_

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><p><em>AN: Not much, but... *Shrugs* I figure the angst was enough to make up for it. Xoxo. _


	6. Break

MY DEAR READERS~

I am so, so very sorry for the delay. I can honestly not express how sorry. I know many of you looked forward to my update. I've been having some trouble with my health and family. I will not go into details, but to say that it's been an extremely…unlucky… time for my family. I am starting the next chapter today, and will be juggling it with my finals. I will attempt to get it in ASAP.

Xoxoxo,

Emma


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Broken Wing

DISCLAIMER: NONE OF THE CHARACTERS ARE MINE. OR THE LYRICS AT THE BOTTOM

As soon as Sherlock's eyes open, he spins around.

"Mycroft!"

It has been five years since he's willingly spoken to his older brother. It is both relieving and agitating to see him.

"Sherlock? Where's John?"

Sherlock watches Mycroft's eyes travel over Sherlock's room. It is even more chaotic than usual, reflecting his state of being.

"Have you had any dreams of him?" Sherlock demands, not answering the question.

If Mycroft has not…Sherlock just barely restrains from shuddering. Mycroft tenses, eyes widening just a little.

"No, I have not. Why do you ask?" he inquires smoothly, hiding the worry. Sherlock turns away, fighting back anguish.

"John has not featured in my dreams for precisely eleven nights," he admits hoarsely.

_His John…bright-eyed, loyal John…who would never miss a night with Sherlock if he had his way._ Sherlock turns around in time to see Mycroft whiten. Slowly, his brother says,

"The only explanation would be coma, or…" Sherlock shoves blindly.

"John. Is. Not. DEAD!" he bellows. Mycroft stumbles, looking pained.

"Sherlock," he croaks. Sherlock shudders.

No.

_No._

Feeling grief and rage wage within him, Sherlock lashes out, again and again.

"BROTHER!" Mycroft finally shouts, pinning him to the floor.

"He's not, he's not, he's not," Sherlock struggles weakly. He lets out a low wail.

_John!_ His brother, his twin!

"Sherlock," Mycroft gasps roughly, eyes too bright.

"Sherlock." He crumples. Mycroft doesn't get up, just continues to repeat his name. Sometimes John's name slips in along with it.

Eventually, Sherlock recoils. Ice settles in his blood. Mycroft stands slowly, looking older than he is.

Sherlock is empty.

"Sherlock," Mycroft pushes. Sherlock pulls a mask over, hiding his sorrow and fury. He regards Mycroft blankly.

"I am fine. I apologize," he says flatly.

Sherlock can feel Mycroft's eyes on him as the dream dissolves.

The mask stays, even in the world wide awake.

"_Please don't go just yet. Can you stay a moment, please? We can dance together, we can dance forever, under your stars tonight. We'll live and breathe this dream." _

**A/N: So, so sorry for the delay. For those who are still reading this-Thank you so very much for sticking with this. I appreciate the dedication. I hope my writing continues to meet your standards. To those who've given up on me ever updating, you won't be reading this, but I'm sorry I couldn't update sooner. A lot of crap has gone on, and I'm certain you don't want a list, but let's just say…Well, I can think of anything to say to explain it. *shakes head* It's better now, so I should be updating quicker. And, it's summer! =D **


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Save Me

DISCLAIMER: NONE OF THIS IS MINE EXCEPT THE PLOT.

* * *

><p>Wearily, John follows Stamford. He's not so sure about meeting a potential flatmate, but he really has no choice. John wonders if this person will be anything like Sherlock. Immediately, he shies away from the thought.<p>

When John had joined the war, he had met a few others who experienced the same thing they did. Under their advice, he had deliberately not allowed his dreams to become shared. He hadn't wanted to force his fears, his nightmares onto his dearest friend. Even now, his nightmares aren't of the war. They're of Sherlock, haunted because of John. They're of Sherlock, treating John differently because of the deaths and gore he saw.

He jolts out of his thoughts as they enter a lab.

"Bit different from my day," John comments to distract himself. Mike grimaces in agreement.

"Oh, you have no idea," he mutters.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine," a tall, angular man requests from behind the table. He has curly, dark chestnut hair and clever ghost-grey eyes. He also looks much too similar to John's 'brother'.

John hides a cringe as Mike replies. This will not work out; it would only torture John.

"Ah-here-use mine," John is saying before he realizes it. John fights another flinch.

He wants to make this stranger happy, make him smile like his Sherlock. John is ashamed that he so easily tarnishes those memories. The man pauses, lips quirking slightly.

"Oh. Thank you," he murmurs.

John knows instinctively that while to most, the man would seem politely indifferent, he is really shocked and in pain. John can't help but marvel at the familiar ease at reading past the mask.

"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson," Mike introduces, watching them curiously. John stiffens as _agony_ flashes across the man's face before vanishing.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

And so begins a series of questions and deductions so _Sherlock, _that John is floored. He wants to break this man, hug this man, run screaming from this man. And then, that man says,

"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street," and is gone before John can stop him.

John stares at Mike, stunned. That was _his_ Sherlock. His brother, his twin! In the world wide awake!

John doesn't faint, but it's a close thing.

"_Save me, save me. Mister Walkin' Man, if you can. C'mon, save me, save me. I said, 'Stranger, if you please', save me, save me. Or am I too far gone? To get back home." _

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><p><strong>AN: Ta-da! I wanted to update quickly to make up for the wretched delay. D'you like it? *hopeful grin* **


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: The Scientist

Sherlock's cab pulls in just as John Watson walks up. He fights the urge to run like a weak animal or hug the man. This stranger, so much like _his_ John, makes him feel again. Sherlock's done his damndest _not_ to feel for six years. It's frightening.

"Hello," he calls out. Watson turns, something eager yet anxious in his eyes.

"Mr. Holmes. Hello!" he says carefully. Sherlock gives the man a wry smile.

"Please-Sherlock," he corrects. Sherlock gives a mental double-take, silently scolding himself. This man is not-_cannot_- be his brother. John is _dead._ They make small talk until Mrs. Hudson lets them in. She was the only one who could worm their way into Sherlock's heart. To Sherlock's surprise, Watson's first comment is not about the flat. He turns to face Sherlock, and just like with _him_, Sherlock is having difficulties reading body language and expressions.

"Are you and Mycroft still not speaking?" And just like that, Sherlock's world is upturned.

"I beg your pardon?" he demands sharply. _John's_ eyes rove over him, then glance up again.

"You're too thin. You lost too much weight, Loki," he chides gently, looking scared. Sherlock freezes. That was _his_ John's nickname for him. Not even _Mycroft_ knew that. No-it couldn't be! John is- but he isn't-

"Janus?" he whimpers. Something eases in John's stance.

"_Sherlock!"_ he laughs, obviously fighting tears. Sherlock takes a brief respite to observe that they seem to cry more easily in each other's presence.

"You're _dead,_" he protests quietly. Just in the span of two minutes and three seconds, the mask he's worn for six years, forty-one days, is crumbling. John recoils.

"What? Is that what-Jesus, Loki. God," he whispers, limping forward to catch Sherlock in a hug. As Sherlock returns it fiercely, he again observes how ridiculously cheesy the majority of his life is when John is involved. John is _alive, _though. His brother is _here. _Sherlock pulls away sniffling. Just then, Mrs. Hudson walks in. She takes in his red eyes and trembling hands, alarmed.

"Sherlock! Dear boy, are you-

Sherlock offers Mrs. Hudson a watery grin.

"Mrs. Hudson, do you remember me telling you about my dream-twin?"

"_I was just guessing, at numbers and figures, pulling the puzzle pieces apart. Questions of science, science and progress, do not speak as loud as my heart. Oh, tell me you love me, come back and haunt me. Oh and I rush back to the start." _


	10. Chapter 9 Edited

Chapter Nine: Run Around

Note: Edited. I forgot to fix some of it before posting it. Sorry 'bout that. ^_^

DISCLAIMER: NONE OF THIS IS MINE; EXCEPT THE PLOT.

Sherlock had just _abandoned_ John at the crime scene, but unlike what Donovan had thought, John didn't mind. He knows that not only was that impulsiveness a part of Sherlock's personality, but Sherlock was probably so used to being _alone_. John hurts to think of what he'd feel like if he spent six years thinking Sherlock was dead. He just _barely_ refrains from biting her head off. Sherlock is _not_ a sociopath, and he is most definitely _not_ a murderer.

Though, some part of John wonders if he would leave even if Sherlock was. He thinks not. When Sherlock is around, John will tear a new one into Donovan. He wants to see his brother's reaction.

Throughout all of this, John has barely heard the phones ringing. But he does notice that they stopped when John passed them, or when someone else tried to answer.

"Hello?" he answers slowly, frowning. By the end of the conversation, John has a sneaking suspicion he knew who this was.

"Get in the car, Dr. Watson," a very pretty young woman says from inside a sleek black car. John sits across from her, evaluating. She does look like she could handle herself in a fight, but John doubts whether she could win over a man straight out of the army.

"What's your name?" he asks. She glances up, giving him a condescending smile. John wants to bristle, but refrains. If she thinks he's dumb, then all the more power to him in the end.

"Mmmm…Anthea," she finally answers, smug. John raises an eyebrow. After a pause, he states,

"That's not your real name, is it." She lets out a chiming laugh, smirking.

"No," she agrees. John falls silent.

When they pull up outside a parking garage, John starts wishing he carried his gun with him. He sighs. Of course, as soon as he meets Sherlock again, his life is like an action movie.

John limps into the structure, and comes face to face with Mycroft. He reels back. He had a feeling it was him! Of course, who else had such a penchant for dramatics!

"Have a seat, John," Mycroft orders him, eyes sharp. John stops before him. He figures he'll see what Mycroft does before revealing who he really was. Like Sherlock did, Myrcoft thinks John is dead.

"You know," John prods, "I have a phone. It was very clever, and all that, but, uh-you could just phone me. On my phone." Mycroft gives a barely perceptible roll of his eyes. John wants to laugh. One of his big brother's pet peeves was when John or Sherlock said the same word too many times in the same sentence. The eldest Holmes brother gives a roll of his umbrella. John _just_ manages to refrain from laughing. The umbrella! Sherlock always told him how their dad had this posh umbrella that he always carried with him, and Mycroft would pine after it.

" When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet. Hence this place." John hides another snort. Yep. This was Mycroft.

He studies his older brother's mannerisms, and tries to see if he can see any of the Mycroft pre-Government. It still pains him that he had left his family for a job, but John doesn't really care anymore. He misses Mycroft too much. Too be honest, Sherlock does, too.

"You don't seem very afraid," Mycroft drawls. John stares him down, face flat. Mycroft may be his older brother, but it's John's duty to pull Mycroft out of whatever the hell is putting him into this "I-am-God, bow-down-before-me" complex.

"You don't seem very frightening," John muses, eyes flashing. Mycroft lets out a predatory laugh.

"Yes," he concedes, eyes narrowed. John resists the urge to stick his tongue out. He's no longer a kid, after all. Out of the blue, Mycroft demands coldly,

"What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?" John relaxes. Thank _God. _Their brother truly hasn't gone down the condescending crap lane. He's just being his usual over-protective self. At first, John stumbles over a reply. Then he lies,

"I just met him-yesterday."

When Mycroft makes the snide comment about Sherlock's social skills, John wants to hit him. As soon as this façade is over, John is _punching_ the shit out of his older brother. Even if trying to get information, Mycroft shouldn't be saying that. John bristles instead.

COME AT ONCE. BAKER STREET. –SH.

John glances at Mycroft then quickly types a reply.

THE UMBRELLA'S OPEN.-JW.

That was the phrase they used whenever Mycroft was deep in dramatics. Of course, Sherlock had his fair share of drama, too.

"I'd be happy to give you a meaningful sum of money, to ease your way," Mycroft says. John froze. _Where the hell was Mycroft going with this?_

"Why?" he asks tightly, lips pressed together.

"Because you're not a wealthy man," Myrcoft counters immediately. John squares his shoulders.

"In exchange for what?" John asks archly. Mycroft's smile cools slightly. John knows he's upset that John was smart enough to ask.

"Information," Mycroft replies. Suddenly, it all makes sense.

Mycroft is _weeding out_ potential harmers to Sherlock.

John relaxes completely, letting loose a wide smile. Mycroft, even post-Government Mycroft, is still their brother.

"No," he giggles. Mycroft stares at him, eyebrow arched.

"Fourteen years ago, you threatened me because I almost broke Sherlock's nose. You were twelve, I was six, and Sherlock was five. Eleven years ago, you left Sherlock and your Mum. I was furious, and you weren't expecting it. You felt betrayed. I told you, you should've expected it, because I valued family above all else," John laughs. Mycroft pales, stepping back. John can only guess what is going through his mind.

"_John?"_ John sticks out his tongue, finally giving into the temptation.

"Hey, big bro."

"_Once upon a midnight dreary, I woke with something in my head. I couldn't escape the memory, of a phone call and what you said. Like a game show with a parting gift. I could not believe my eyes, when I saw through the voice of a trusted friend."_


	11. Final Adieu

Readers~

I really hate to do this to you, because I know it's been a long time, and I know a lot of you follow this. I've been sick for a long time, so I haven't been able to write.

I'm still sick, and I don't think I'll be able to finish this. I'm sorry!

If any of you want to pick it up, feel free. I was going to end it in two chapters, but it's up to you.

=) Hugs to all of you!


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